The train of wagons backed up at the border town of Hechenholm drew a thin line of disapproval to the assassin's face. The congestion seemed to be increasing by the minute, and he could only barely make out the edge of the Dvina River, nestled safely among the woodland, denoting the duchy's northernmost boundaries. Before it lay a barricade, reinforced by a dozen territorial soldiers, the bayonets on their muskets glittering in the sun. Beyond was Luttenia, the city of Loseine, and freedom.
Pity.
The response had been swifter than he had anticipated. It would have been convenient to simply ride across the border. No matter. There was always a way out. Roland felt his face twitch as he glanced at the setting sun. The only question was how. Darkness, of course, would provide good protection, yet the Dvina ran fast and deep. Fording it would be out of the question. At least, that was how it seemed. There was always Littman's ford. Or Liars Crossing, depending on how one chose to view it. All he had to do was make his way around Hechenholm without being spotted. Roland cast a wary eye toward the cold blue sky, wondering just how much protection the dead forest would afford him, he could not say. The witch hunter gently touched the Malthorian cross that hung around his neck, his finger tracing the archaic runes of warding bedecking the steel pendant. It lay cold and still. A good sign. He need only worry about human eyes, and those were far easier to evade. With no further hesitation, he urged Ruyter into the surrounding woods, vanishing among the trees like a ghost.
The clamor and hubbub of the overfilled area filled the air as the dismounted hunter guided his horse around the village periphery, giving wide berth to the area in his effort to avoid the roadblocks. He dared not draw any nearer, lest he be spotted. Even in the low light of the setting sun, he could not afford the chance. All it could take was one astute guard and his efforts would be over.
A gunshot. Screaming ensued. Someone had panicked. More gunshots followed, the sounds of chaos filling the crisp air as the soldiers no doubt overreacted to some banality. Good. Roland did his best to ignore the sounds of pandemonium, guiding Ruyter onward as swiftly as possible, hoping whatever was occurring in the town would pull any prying eyes away.
In the far west, the sun was slowly setting, casting strange shadows through the skeletal forest. He'd reach the crossing just in time. Soon, the light would be gone completely, and all it would take would be a mad dash across the river out of sight of the village lookouts.
He stood there in silence, hiding on the forest outskirts, waiting. Patience was a hunter's greatest virtue. It had been a skill instilled in him since youth, and he made good use of it now, waiting for his opportunity.
A mounted patrol roamed past, urging their horses back toward the settlement and the clamor erupting within. Cautiously, he extracted the revolver from its holster, keeping the weapon low so as to avoid glare. Five minutes. That would be all it took. Five minutes and he'd be free. If only it was dark already.
Stolen story; please report.
The time seemed to drag by slowly as he awaited nightfall. None of the garrison noticed him, and whatever commotion had taken place in the town had subsided. He could make out the guards at the town's edge chatting and kicking rocks by the roadside, now clearly undisturbed. If only the shooting had occurred just a bit later, would have been the perfect distraction. Yet all was well, he could wait just a tiny bit longer.
Ruyters ears pricked up, a tiny motion that Roland scarcely noticed, and yet it was enough. He froze. The man scarcely dared breathe. Remaining un-moving and silent. Listening, straining his ears for any sound. The witch hunter's tongue darted across his lips. Nothing. The damned animal had gotten spooked by nothi-. A rustle. As if the wind in the bushes. Roland raised his flint-lock revolver and eyed the woodland warily. It all seemed amiss. The foliage had all fallen weeks ago, leaving the forest a patchwork of skeletal trees and shrubbery. Nothing should have been able to hide in that. The horse snorted again, clearly becoming agitated. Ruyter never got agitated. Even a charge from the Hofstadt Lancers hadn't moved the beast. Minutes dragged by, and the sound did not reoccur. It had to be nothing. The sun was almost gone. He couldn't allow himself to break his cover for a spooked horse. The hunter turned back to the road, lowering his weapon once more.
It was only the blur in his peripheral vision that saved his life. A dark shape moving with an alacrity that should have scarcely been possible. He barely comprehended the incoming form, closing in on him as a wolf pouncing on its prey. Roland sensed the weapon rising more than saw it, flinging himself aside as the crack of discharging powder filled the air. The ball slammed into the tree beside which he had stood a split second earlier. The attacker didn't slow for a heartbeat, rushing through the obscuring smoke like a demon from the three hells. His own revolver swung up. He fired. If the projectile struck the woman, it didn't slow her, not even for a moment. She drew a second pistol, firing at full run. The witch hunter grunted in pain as the lead ball clipped his shoulder, shredding cloth and carving a bloody streak atop his flesh.
He had no time for this. No time to re-cock the revolver in his hand. No time to stand and fight. The guards had heard the gunshots. Roland leaped for Ruyter, swinging up with practiced ease, pure fear lending speed to his movements. The horse needed no urging, accelerating out into the open with a terrified whinny. The woman, if this monstrosity could even be called a woman, leaped at him. He caught a brief flash of razor claws and needle fangs extending as she cleared the last few meters in a single bound. Ruyter screamed as she clawed at his rear, failing to find purchase and falling just short of the galloping horse.
More shots. Muskets from the town guard opening fire on the strange pair dashing toward the river. Roland felt his mouth go dry as he urged his horse to move faster. The woman-creature pursued, very nearly keeping pace. The hunter cursed, urging the horse to ever greater speed. Mud skidded and slipped beneath the poor creatures hooves as it slid down the embankment toward the river's edge. Their pursuer had no such limitations. Roland re-cocked his revolver, turned around, and fired. The woman let out a low growl and lunged, her claws digging into Ruyter as he galloped into the river. Fabric ripped and tore as the woman dragged herself closer, gouging the cloth and leather saddlebags behind him. Roland felt a hot flash of pain as claws slashed across the meat of his thigh, opening bloody rivulets along his flesh. Desperation was fully taking hold, he needed to be rid of the abomination, immediately. The revolver clicked as he re-cocked once more, firing at the clawing monstrosity. This time the woman screamed and toppled back toward the water. Liars Crossing was not a forgiving ford, and with no footing, the huntress could not maintain her grip. With a final screech of hatred, she was pulled under the rushing water, vanishing from sight beneath the bloody stream. Roland didn't glance back again, trusting the river would drag her away.
New fountains of water erupted short of their position as the guard fired again, but the witch-hunter paid them no more heed. They were too far. They had no hope of hitting him here.
Breathing heavily as Ruyter clambered up the far bank, he sighed with relief. There was no more sign of the monster. He had made it. He had reached Luttenia. The soldiery from Hechenholm wouldn't dare risk trespass to capture him. He was safe.